He'd do what you taught him.

He'd meet the same cruel fate.
She reminds me of this figure. They’re like a blank slate personified, wiped clean. They don’t ever seem to notice me there, to even acknowledge me.
They’re too focused on tugging and clawing at themselves, like a rabid wolf. If there was a chain, they would be both predator and prey. It leaves weird streaks that hurt my eyes.
I still stare at them. They pause only for a few seconds to acknowledge it’s doing something. They never seem happy with the result, only carving further. I think about why they do this when they are destroying themselves.
Memories try to rise at me when I think about it, but so does bile in my throat. I don’t think about it. (Original piece)
So now I've gotta run.